The Doctor Calls
by RenaRoo
Summary: Anxiety becomes a fuel for their processing on patrol. It keeps them on their toes, keeps them observant. But they can't lose control, they can't afford to. Tim can't afford to...


crim-bat prompted: Tim going to counselling for his growing anxiety over loss.

There's basically not an angst war without Tim prompts~ Canon reference to the (really dumb) FabNic last arc of Robin (1993-2009)

Batman and related properties © DC Comics  
story © RenaRoo

 **The Doctor Calls**

 _"Grenade!"_

These things should not carry the tune of "routine" for them, but that's Gotham for you. The shout barely elicits a blink from Tim even as he says it, diving for the armed explosive, performing a quick heel turn, and preparing to throw it toward the harbor before it detonates.

Routine.

But he doesn't throw. He… finds himself frozen. Staring. With two sets of young eyes looking back.

The kids - must have been using the docks for easy merchandise grabs - aren't in the way, they aren't going to be harmed by Tim throwing the grenade into the waters far away from him. If he's all that concerned, he could always use his grappler to shoot the grenade even further out from shore. It'd only take seconds more.

Seconds he's wasting. He's frozen. He's not able to think-

Cassandra tackles him from behind, grabbing the grenade and with lightning fast reflexes, kicking it out from the bay. She doesn't hesitate to pull Tim, the two children, and herself behind one of the storage lockers just as the far-too-close explosive detonates closer to shore than it had any reason to.

The kids aren't stunned long, screaming in excitement about how "cool" what they just witnessed was.

Tim is looking at them, feeling the blood drain from his face and limbs. He feels… twitchy. Feels insecure. Feels… like he did something wrong.

Something beside the obvious. _He froze._

Cassandra is looking at him, concern spilling out in her expression even behind her mask. Tim is trying to catch his breath.

As sensation returns, without saying anything to his patrol partner, Tim squares his jaw and makes a decision to deal with the _situation_ himself.

* * *

One might say it's been a long shift, but at the Park Row Clinic they'r _e all_ long shifts. Leslie would know. She works them all.

She does her last round of midnight checks, instructs her volunteers what to do, directs the Cavalier to keep watch from the commons if he continues to insist on doing so, and at last heads to her personal office. Paperwork might actually be the least favorite part of her job, but it's necessary all the same.

It's as she opens the door that she realizes that - once more - her work will be stacking up for her.

The breeze from the open window has cooled her office, and the computer she always turns off to conserve power as much as possible is leaving a soft green glow around her office chair - the back to her.

"Any injuries?" she asks as she closes the door behind her. She has an internal wager on who will be on the other side of that chair as it turns around. She's somewhat surprised when it's Tim.

"No," he says. "Fortunately."

She puts her papers neatly on the file basket and looks at the young man. She can still see so many things - smudge of dirt covering a forming bruise on his chin, the slight hunch of his shoulders from hours of overexertion, a slight pale tint to his uncovered face probably from lack of hydration. There's a fray on the lining of his cape draped over the left shoulder.

He's sadly right. These aren't the usual signs that would bring any of her estranged family to her door.

Especially not Tim.

"Do you need some coffee or tea for our talk?" she decides, knowing full well what would bring Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne to her door at this hour.

"No," he says in return. "Do you need your chair?"

"It could use a rest from me," Leslie responds, going to her coffeemaker and starting a brew. "Is there something in particular we need to talk about?" The unsaid, _am I the problem here_ , heavy in the air.

Their last few encounters haven't been the most pleasant, after all.

He's still mad at her. Perhaps not for doing what she must, but for the way in which it happened. Sloppy and careless. Decisions made out of fear and more than a little spite. The gang wars had warped a lot of how she viewed Gotham and their place in it.

Looking at Tim, she can't help but wonder if the same could be said for him.

"I don't know what the problem is," he admits, looking at her more than a little confused. "I just… I know I can't keep putting it off. It. It almost got someone… got a lot of people killed tonight."

Leslie halts, looks at him, at the genuine concern on Tim's face, and nods slowly. "And the others can't know."

"I've heard you're good at keeping secrets."

She lets out a small sigh, walks to the son of her son, pats his shoulder, and closes the window, locking it.

It was going to be a long process.

* * *

He stares at it, a little more than perplexed.

"It's a bomb," Damian snarks unhelpfully. "I can-"

"I know what it is," Tim says, settling over it, glaring at the wires and parts. It's been weeks since he did this. But his mind is numb and suddenly a problem he could have handled one week after training as Robin is…

It's a lot more complicated.

"Red Robin?" Stephanie asks, taking down another one of Two-Face's hapless goons. She joked earlier about how they probably didn't even realize there was a bomb in the building.

The entire reason they _came_ here was so that Tim could disarm it.

The clock is ticking.

"Well?" Damian asks, a bit of the snark falling out of his tone now. He seems more confused by Tim than anything.

Tim shares the feeling.

"Clear the building," Tim orders.

"Just stop the bomb!" Damian retorts.

"Tim?" Steph looks to him. "Is… there something wrong with the-"

Tim glares at them both, apparently with enough confidence and intent that they take him at his word and get on the move. Tim returns his attention to the bomb and carefully removes the outer shell to expose everything. His heart beats faster as he can't seem to look beyond the mass of wires, to process what they all connect to. His heart is _pounding -_

He hears over the radio that Batgirl and Robin are clearing the surrounding area. They're outside of the building.

Without hesitation, Tim cuts through four wires, dismantles the inner charge, and places a chip into the remote processor for Oracle to track the signal down with. As the program runs, Tim takes his first full breath since he entered the building.

Angrily, he takes off for the roof and races toward the East End.

 _This has to stop._

* * *

Leslie isn't expecting Tim until tomorrow night, but she knows better than to be surprised by Waynes at this point in her life. It just saddens her to see him this way.

The overturned end table is chipped, but none of the magazines or tissues that topped it are irreplaceable. Tim's still angry and pacing though. He's already locked the window and drawn the blinds.

Closing the door behind her, Leslie crosses the room.

"I expect that table to be fixed up, young man," she says, sinking into her exam chair.

 _"I was supposed to be getting better,"_ Tim hisses at her.

"Weren't you?" Leslie asks, hard but genuine.

He looks at her, then away. He sweeps the cowl off his head and rakes long fingers through his slicked hair. "I thought I was," he says. "I have been _fine._ And then. Then I froze. _I froze and there was a bomb and everyone was going to die but I couldn't-"_

"Breathe, Timothy," Leslie coaxes, beginning to rise, but stopping as Tim takes the cue and flops into the opposing chair. She settles again. "Breathe."

"I can breathe," he snaps, but he looks unconfident even in that.

"Start at the beginning," Leslie urges, patient and quiet.

Taking a deep breath, Tim drones out the usual status report. Like a good soldier. "There were two sites - as per usual - where Two-Face was going to remote detonate bombs. Without remote detonation there was a timer in place regardless. Batman - Dick - took the main section where the GCPD already had Dent surrounded. I, Batgirl, and Robin-"

"Stephanie and Damian," Leslie reminds him calmly. "We want to humanize all our relationships while we're in session, Tim."

"I know," he mutters. "The three of us went to the remote location. I studied up on this type of detonator so I was going to disarm. _Stephanie and Damian_ were there for cover and in the case that I found there to be a secondary signal to a separate bomb that they could be sent to. But I didn't. So they stayed on location." He squirms in his seat. "So all there was to do was to… do my job."

Leslie rubs her eyes. "And you froze."

"I… I couldn't even think. It was like I had never seen a bomb before," Tim chatters, pace quickening with his nerves. "I couldn't even _think,_ Leslie. And. And-"

Gently, Leslie leans forward. "Tim. Did you stop the bomb?"

"Yes," he says. "But only after Stephanie and Damian left. I sent them away."

"And even though you had no idea if you would be able to fix it or not without them there," Leslie continues, "you stayed to disarm the bomb. By yourself."

Tim drops his head into his hands. "I can't… I think I need to patrol alone from now on," he decides on his own. "This… _this anxiety_ is too much. I can't feel responsible for others. I can't… I can't be responsible for losing anyone else."

"Tim," Leslie says, pulling her chair closer to his. "You _know_ that these tragedies we'e been through… they aren't your fault, your burden. No one is hurt because of you. You've _saved_ more people than I can even begin to count."

"I don't know what to do," Tim responds miserably. "I can't stop _feeling_ this way."

"I believe you have reasons for fearing certain losses more than others," Leslie expresses. "We determined last time that you were reminded of the children before who had been killed by Anarky and that triggered your episode. Perhaps now your anxiety is due to the people you feel responsible for."

He looks at her, more than a little aggravated. "I won't stop caring about them like they're suddenly not my responsibility," he says darkly.

"I'm not asking you to," Leslie says. "But you need to trust them to take care of themselves… you need to let go of something, Tim. _Something_ is paining you, and it's going to continue to build."

* * *

Dick's brows raise but he doesn't seem to be questioning Tim's judgement exactly. Just… surprised. "You're not going on patrol?"

"I've thought a lot about what you said about us needing to do better about taking things in shifts so we don't exhaust ourselves," Time lies right through his teeth. "I'm not… a _fan_ exactly but. I figure I can help from mission control while I'm at the Manor anyway. Until Alfred and Bruce are back from Germany at least."

"I hope they bring back some chocolate," Dick says idly.

"They won't," Tim jokes back. "And you're thinking Swiss chocolate by the by."

He turns and looks over the cave computer. It's a lot more intimidating than he remembered. He turns everyone's lens cameras on and prepares to balance at the edge of his seat. Takes in a deep breath.

When Dick's hand finds his shoulder, Tim almost leaps out of his chair. Dick frowns.

"Those take a lot of battery," Dick reminds him. "Don't leave them on the whole time, okay? Never know when we might need those emergency systems."

Tim nods. "I know, just getting a handle on everything."

Not looking completely convinced, Dick starts toward the Batmobile.

"Dick?"

"Yeah, Li'l Brother?"

Tim turns off the view cams. "Be careful."

Dick sends a soft smile, nods, and enters the Batmobile without another word. It feels… secure. Confident.

Black Bat has Robin. Batman will be talking to the GCPD tonight. Batgirl is working for Proxy on something under Oracle's guidance.

Tim's just… not sure why he feels they're all doomed in some way.

He works the rest of the night on making a more energy efficient HUD cam for their masks.

* * *

It's been only a night since their last session, but Leslie is heartbreakingly unsurprised to be met by Tim's long and tired face inside her door.

"I've been thinking lately," Tim says, slowly, "actually… less that it's… lately and more… I just realized how _much_ I think it but…" He looks at her, watery and winded. "I wonder… if someone _did_ … if something happened to any of them. I… Leslie, I know I can't handle it. I _know_ I wouldn't be able to… get a grip again. And it… scares me."

Leslie nods, chest clenching, and closes the door behind her.

It'll be a long night.


End file.
